


A Casual Match

by Frayach



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/pseuds/Frayach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 1982.  Years of long-distances and longing are taking their toll.  It’s their second-to-last trip together, but Jack is nowhere near able to quit Ennis.</p><p>
  <img/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Casual Match

“You’re up early.”

Jack rose from the steps, his cup of coffee still sheltered in both hands, and smiled at his Mom as she stepped carefully through the screen door, easing it closed so it wouldn’t bang shut. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “You’d never believe it, but I actually get up before sunrise most days.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “Go ahead, sit down. I’m not used to you standin’ up when I come in a room. Must be Texas manners you’re learnin’.”

Jack sat down again and hunched over his coffee, blowing on the surface before taking a tentative sip.

“Christ, that is _hot_!”

“Sweetheart. The Lord’s name.”

“Sorry,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “Guess Texas hasn’t rid me of all my bad habits.” Jack felt rather than saw his Mom’s sideways glance.

“How’s Lureen?” she asked as though she’d read his mind.

“She’s fine,” Jack answered, taking another tentative sip. “And Bobby. He’s fine, too.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Jack rested his cup on his knee and looked over the long horizon beyond the dusty stretch of road leading from town out pass the Filbert Farm and then on to who-the-hell-knows-where, Montana. The sun was just beginning to rise from behind the round hay bales, casting shadows on the cut field, while further out, the tall grass in the outer fields seemed to snap with orange light, like thousands of sparklers had been lit and stuck in the ground to burn themselves out. It was going to be a hot one. Hot at least for northern Wyoming in mid-September. Jack stretched out his legs with a yawn, and his Mom reached over and gently tucked a stray curl behind his ear. On a sudden impulse, Jack seized her hand and kissed it. She looked away with a blush, like a girl’s.

“Tell you what, Ma,” he said, releasing her hand. “You could come down to Childress. Catch the bus outta Sheridan.”

“Jack, you know how much your father hates the bus.”

He turned away from her, tipping his hat back, and squinted at the rising sun. “I didn’t say nothin’ about him, now did I?”

“And what is he supposed to do with me gone?” she responded to his question with her own.

_I don’t give a flyin’ fuck_ , was the first answer that leaped to Jack’s mind, but he swallowed it as quick as he could and washed it down with another scalding sip of coffee.

“Bobby’s not gonna be a kid forever,” he said. It was a low blow, and he knew it. He heard the familiar sigh of resignation. She rose and smoothed the front of her house coat with in a slow, deliberate gesture. Jack almost reached for her hand again to pull her back down beside him. He wanted the company after all. Didn’t want to stumble back into the thoughts he’d been thinking before she came out to join him.

“I better get some breakfast started,” she said.

“Ma,” Jack said, but she had already turned, and the creak of the screen door drowned out his words, which really had been scarcely louder than a whisper anyway.

_Goddamn son of a bitch_ , he said under his breath and set his cup on the step. It was just the height of bullshit that he and his mother had to be outside whispering so as not to disturb the old cunt. He rose and paced across the driveway, spinning on the heel of his boot and then back again. _Son of a goddamn bitch_. He paused and glanced up at his parents’ bedroom window. Was he watching? Jack only barely kept himself from flipping the bird. With the angry prairie sun reflecting off the glass, it looked as though the house were on fire, burning from the inside out. Hot enough to peel paint off the walls, curl the linoleum on the bathroom floor . . . .

But at least thinking about how much he hated his father was better than thinking about Ennis Del Mar.

Jack took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Ennis. Another right son of a bitch. Ruining their last night together by getting in a fight at the Mint. And the guy he’d kicked the shit out of hadn’t done nothing worse than inform Jack he’d taken his buddy’s seat at the bar. No biggie. No need to fly off the handle like Ennis had done. _You fuckin’ saying my friend can’t sit where he wants to fuckin’ sit?_ Good grief!

Jack guessed it was partly his own fault. Never should've suggested they go into town for a drink. But it had been raining since mid-afternoon the day before, and everything they owned was soaked. They’d been riding out the long Cloud Peak drainage for a couple days, and the going was slow, the horses picking their way through slide rock. They’d dismounted to clear a particularly tricky stretch, and Jack had noticed that Ennis’s lips were blue and his fingers fumbled at the buckles as he adjusted his saddle girth. Jack had reached out to grasp his hand.

_You’re freezing_ , he said, and Ennis instinctively pulled away, shaking out his hand as though Jack had grabbed it with hot tongs or something.

_‘M not_ , he’d said through chattering teeth.

_Whatever you say_ , Jack replied and turned back to his horse. _Come on, girl_ , he said, urging her forward and up a steep embankment.

They’d remounted and gone on in silence for about a half a mile when Jack noticed Ennis urge his horse up along side of him, so they were riding abreast on the narrow road. The rain had stopped, but a fine, cold drizzle hung in the air, so dense that, unless you knew better, you wouldn’t think you were in a narrow ravine with slopes rising steeply on either side, bristling with lodge pole and douglas fir.

_I am freezing, actually_ ,” Ennis said after awhile. _Freezing my fucking balls off_.

Jack pulled his glove back from his wrist with his teeth and glanced at his watch. It was nearly four, and he figured they had at least another five miles to go yet before they reached the trail head. Maybe they should stop now, Jack had thought. Find a place to set up camp, get a fire going. He’d almost said as much to Ennis, but then he remembered the sopping tent, the damp sleeping bags, the soggy ground pads . . . .

_Do you still have any coffee left?_ he’d asked.

_Nope_ , Ennis answered. _Drank the last of it at lunch_.

_Well, I’ve got more ‘en half a thermos left_ , Jack said. _You’re welcome to it_. He reached back and fished around in his saddle pack for a moment and then handed Ennis his thermos. Bobby’s actually. Covered with “Super Friends” stickers. Ennis took it from him, snugging it between his thighs as he tried to twist off the top with numb fingers.

_Actually . . . fuck!_ he’d finally got the top off but had been unable to keep a hold of it, and it fell to the ground. Ennis reined in his horse and eased himself out of the saddle like an old man. _Actually, I was thinkin’ maybe we could stop early. Get a fire going_. He hunted around in the sage brush for a minute before he found the top and poured the coffee into it, warming his big hands so it looked like he was drinking out of his palms. Meanwhile, his horse nudged and nibbled at Jack’s saddle pack where he’d stowed the oats.

_I dunno_ , Jack said, tipping his hat back and squinting into the mist, which had only just began to swirl about in the cold breeze flowing down from the only-guessed-at peaks above. _It’s getting colder, and all our stuff’s wet_.

_Once we got a fire goin’ it’d dry up quick enough_ , Ennis replied.

_That is if we could find some dry kindling to even get a fire goin’_ , Jack said. _Everything’s sopping. That was a drencher we got last night_.

Ennis screwed the top on the thermos and handed it back to Jack. _There’s bound to be some dead fall under all those needles_ , he said, gesturing to the pine covered slopes.

_We’ll be down this drainage in the time it’d take us to find it, get a fire started and set up camp_ , Jack replied, although it was starting to dawn on him just what exactly was going on. _I’ve got a change a clothes in my truck. A couple actually. We could get into some dry things_.

_And then do what?_ Ennis grumbled. _Sit around in the parking lot waitin’ for high school kids to drive up and offer us some of their wine coolers?_

_I don’t think high schoolers drive up this far to party_ , Jack replied, but Ennis was glowering and stomping around as he checked his saddle packs.

_Fine, Twist, have it your own way then_ , and Jack almost laughed out loud. _Have it his own way?_ What was that supposed to fucking mean?

_I’m not trying to have anything my own way, Ennis_ , he replied. _I’m just tryin’ to think a you, is all. Get fucking hypothermia if you’re not careful_.

_Well, don’t be fuckin’ thinkin’ of me_ , Ennis snapped. _I can fuck well think for myself_.

Lately, this was how it was on their last day together. Like clockwork, Ennis would start sliding into a dark funk, and because they were almost always riding out of the mountains, Jack had come to associate the slow change in Ennis’s mood with the physical experience of riding down a steep descent, the way you had to lean back in the saddle, your hand braced on the cantle, and your body loose and rolling with every step.

_Fine_ , Ennis said as though Jack had finally browbeat him into accepting something unacceptable. _Fine. We’ll ride back out to the trucks_. He remounted and spurred his horse forward into a sudden trot, rounding the bend in the road before Jack could stow away the thermos and gather up the reins. At least his pissiness would keep him warm, Jack thought, as he watched the dark canvas of Ennis’s jacket disappear into the mist.

They’d reached the parking lot at the trail head just as the sun started to set, the night closing in like a tide. To Jack’s chagrin, he saw that their trucks were not alone. A jeep with plastic windows and “surf’s up” bumper sticker and another truck like Jack’s, except a year or two older. Ennis dismounted without a word, but Jack could almost hear his _I told you so_. It seeped from his every pore as Ennis tugged the buckles loose and hauled the saddle down in one heave, his horse’s back smoking in the dying light.

_Hey, did ya’ll just ride outta the drainage?_

Jack dismounted slowly, waiting till his boots were firmly on the ground before he answered. A short _yup_.

_How wet is it up there?_ The guy jumped down from the truck’s open tailgate. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and threw it in the dirt, twisting it under the toe of his boot. Jack eyed him warily from under his hat brim.

_Wet enough_ , he answered. Behind him, he heard Ennis throwing stuff in the back of his truck and slamming doors harder than he needed to.

_Shit. That’s what I thought_ , the guy said. _Was gonna start up tonight. The weather’s cleared down in the valley, and I figured these clouds would blow outta here soon enough. And with the full moon an’ all, I figured I could get a couple miles in_. . . . . He trailed off when he realized that Jack and Ennis had no intention of ceasing their packing and unpacking. _Hey, wanna drink?_ he tried again. _Got some whiskey in my truck_.

_You know_ , said Ennis, and Jack felt his jaw clench. He was never sure how Ennis would react in these kinds of situations. Situations where he felt cornered, whether he was in reality or not. _You could start out. It’s not really that bad up there. ‘Specially once you get over that first stream crossing_.

Jack ducked his head so that neither of them could see his smile. The guy stood scratching his head for a moment, gazing up the drainage.

_We seen some elk up there_ , Ennis continued. _Get up early enough and you could bag ‘un. Get it outta here before forest service even comes lookin’_. Jack caught sight of the rifle leaning against the side of the guy’s truck.

_Yeah, you’re right_ , he said slowly. _Yeah_.

_Like you said - it’s gonna clear up before too long_ , Ennis said.

_All right. That settles it_. The guy reached into his truck and pulled out his pack. _Sorry about the whiskey. I could stay another hour and we could finish off the bottle_ . . . . .

_That’s all right_ , they replied both at once, and the guy paused as he checked his pack, glancing at them curiously.

_Uhm. Yeah. We don’t drink_ , Jack said. _We’re . . uh . . .whatchamacallits . . ._ , he stood snapping his fingers for a brief idiotic second.

_Mormons_ , Ennis jumped in. _We’re Mormons_.

_Oh, yeah_ , the guy replied slowly, giving them another curious glance before shouldering his pack. _Right. Sorry. Hope I didn’t offend youse all by askin’_.

_Nope_ , they said, once again both at the same time.

_Have a good night_ , Ennis added.

_Yeah, y’all, too_ , the guy said. _Night_. He slammed his tailgate shut and took up his gun, trudging toward the trail head, all but hidden in the lowering dusk.

Jack could tell that Ennis was elated. His shoulders were no longer hunched about his ears, and he could barely keep the laughter out of his eyes. Jack could've grabbed him right then and there. Grabbed him and kissed him.

_Whatcha lookin’ at?_ Ennis grumbled through the grin threatening to break out at any second.

_Nothin’_ , Jack answered, joy - and relief - blooming like spring sage in his stomach.

Ennis pulled the bridles off both his and Jack’s horses and gave both animals a slap on the rump. _Go find yerselves somethin’ to eat_ , he said, turning to Jack who had stripped off his damp shirt and was now struggling out of his clammy jeans. _Yer blue_ , he laughed. _And there it was you worryin’ about me getting hypothermia_. Jack glanced down at his bare thighs.

_I’m not cold, you jackass_ , he said, looking back at Ennis with a wide grin. _My jeans were runnin’. This is a new pair_.

_Yeah, whatever_ , Ennis said and crossed the lot slowly, kicking his boots in the dirt like a rodeo cowboy after an eight-second ride, his thumbs hitched in his belt.

_Whaddya mean “whatever”?_ Jack replied. _Look at my underwear. I sure as hell didn’t buy 'em this color_. He gestured at his crotch with both hands, mock indignation on his face. Ennis raised an eyebrow.

_I’m a lookin’ all right_ , he said, exaggerating the accent as he always did when he was getting up the courage to come on to Jack. _Looks mighty fine to me_. He caught Jack in his arms and forced him back against the side of his truck, pressing his hips forward so that Jack could feel plainly the ridge of his hard-on beneath the fly of his jeans. Jack felt himself stiffen in response.

_Goddamn, Del Mar_ , he said when Ennis stopped thrusting his tongue into his mouth long enough for Jack to catch his breath. _My pants are still around my knees. I’m gonna topple over on the ground_.

Ennis was breathing heavy now, but he stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. _Hurry up_ , he said, his voice gravelly with desire.

_Uhm_ , Jack dreaded even having to think it, let alone say it aloud to Ennis. _Uhm. don’t you think we should make sure the owner of this other vehicle’s not around somewhere first?_ But Ennis wasn’t listening. Never did when he got this horny.

_Fuck it_ , he said and once Jack had his jeans and boots off, Ennis turned him around, twisting his arm back in a wrestler’s hold until it almost hurt. He pushed Jack’s underwear down and slid a cold hand between his thighs, cupping his balls. Jack wrenched his arm free and stripped down to his skin, his own sense of danger dissolving beneath Ennis’s urgent thrusts. Ennis was struggling with his other hand to get his buckle and fly undone, but Jack could tell he wasn’t going to make it. He’d scarcely felt the hot brand of Ennis’s erection between his buttocks when Ennis’s thrusts became almost frantic. Once, twice, three times, and then he was grunting against Jack’s neck as the hot liquid pulsed between his thighs. His chest still heaving, Ennis reached around Jack’s waist and grasped his cock, his hand slick and warm from his orgasm. Jack let his head fall back on Ennis’s shoulder as sensation washed over him, and he thrust hard into Ennis’s hand. _Come, goddamn it_ , Ennis whispered in his ear, his breath warm and damp. And Jack came. Hard. Panting for breath, he collapsed against the side of the truck, pressing his burning cheek to cold metal. Ennis quickly gathered him into his arms and pulled him back against his chest, kissing his throat, his hair, his shoulders, everywhere his mouth could reach.

_If you weren’t cold before, you will be now_ , he said at last and loosened his arms. Jack turned back around to face him, and Ennis reached both hands up to either side of his face, kissing him soft and long on the mouth, his fingers smelling of cigarettes and horses and sex.

Not ten minutes had passed after they’d pulled on dry clothes when three men in wool jackets and work boots came out of the trees on the opposite side of the parking lot from the trail head. They were talking and laughing loudly, and as they passed the horses, one of them slapped their rumps, sending them whinnying, with ears laid back, down into the lower meadow by the stream. Several seconds went by before Jack realized he’d stopped breathing. Ennis was sitting on the tailgate pulling on his boots, his eyes winnowed down to bright slits. As the men approached, Jack saw him reach ever so slowly to the hunting knife that hung on his belt.

How many times had he imagined just such a moment? A hundred? A thousand? Sometimes it was him who saved Ennis, and sometimes it was Ennis who saved him. Jack tried to swallow around the dry lump of fear in his throat. So, it had come to this at last. But no matter what happened during the fight, the aftermath would be even worse. This is precisely what Ennis had been afraid of. Not, Jack knew, because he was afraid of a fight. No that wasn’t the problem. It was the thought that someone had seen them together. Seen them kiss. Seen them fuck. Maybe because until someone actually saw it, Ennis could convince himself it hadn’t actually happened. . . .

Quick as he could flip the blade on his knife, Ennis suddenly uncoiled from his tense perch on the tailgate, his body virtually humming like a plucked strand of barbed wire strung tight between two posts. Jack had been sitting in the passenger side seat, smoking a cigarette, his feet propped in the window frame of the open door. Slowly, steadily, he straightened and stood, reaching for his hat. It’d been a while since he’d been in a fight, but he remembered how it all worked. It was the kind of thing you never forgot how to do, like riding the bulls. Like fucking, really. You wait to see what’s gonna happen and then in the split second that follows, you figure out what you’re gonna do.

The men reached the jeep without saying a word to them, laughing and talking the whole way. Jack caught something about a three-legged dog and a bottle of Jim Beam. The men were stripping off their packs and stowing them in the back of the jeep when one of them paused.

_Hey, man, I’m sorry_ , he called out. _I shouldn’t have slapped your horses like that. Didn’t know anyone was around_.

Jack glanced over at Ennis, trying to gauge what effect this unexpected greeting would have. Jack could see the muscles in his jaw working furiously.

_We don’t want any trouble_ , one of the other men said when he and his friend stopped talking and laughing and realized the nature of the situation. The third guy lifted both hands in a gesture of acquiescence.

_They didn’t see us!_ The thought struck Jack in a wave of relief. _They didn’t fucking see us_. But Ennis was still crossing the parking lot, deliberate and slow, his body loose and lopping like one of the lions on that show that Bobby liked to watch. What the hell was it? _Wild Kingdom_ , or some such?

_Listen_ , said the first guy. _Seriously. My buddy’s right. We don’t want any trouble_.

Well, if Ennis was going to fight, as pointless as it seemed to Jack, he’d have to join him. Jack tipped his hat back and walked after Ennis, scuffing up the dirt with his boots as he went. He reached Ennis’s side and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, spitting out of the corner of his mouth.

_Just to prove I didn’t mean anything by it, I’ll give you fellas a six-pack_ , said the guy, and Jack for the first time realized their plates read “California.” He almost laughed.

_I don’t want your fucking beer_ , Ennis said, his voice low and menacing. _I want a fucking apology_.

Jack looked over at him and saw that his hands were shaking. He stepped nearer and lay his hand on Ennis’s shoulder.

_Ennis, he already apologized_ , Jack said. _Come on. No harm done_.

Ennis shrugged off his hand and glared at him. Hard. But Jack wasn’t going to be deterred. He’d dealt with wildcat Ennis before, dealt with fucking cheap and dirty Ennis, dealt with just about every kind of Ennis he could think of.

_Come on_ , he said. _Let’s get the horses loaded up, go into town. Get ourselves a drink or five_. He shrugged apologetically at the guys. _Been a long day_ , he said.

There was a long moment of silence so that Jack could hear the far off calling of coyotes and the sound of a freight truck shifting into low gear on some highway somewhere. And then, suddenly, Ennis turned on his heel and went back to the truck. Jack watched him climb into the passenger seat and slam the door. He turned back to the three guys.

_Hey, thanks, man_ , the first guy said and held out his hand. Jack looked at it a long moment and glanced back over his shoulder at the truck before he took it.

_No problem_ , he said, feeling awkward as all hell, wiping his hand on his jeans after the guy released it.

_Do you want that beer?_ The guy asked. _Cause, seriously, it’s yours if you want it_.

_No thanks_ , he said. _You keep it_. He tipped his chin at the guy and his friends. No one spoke. At last he said _Night_ and turned away.

Jack got the horses loaded in the trailers. It took some work to catch them in the marshy grass along the stream, and he soaked his new dry pair of jeans up to the knees in the icy water, but at last he climbed into the driver’s side of the truck. Ennis was hunkered down in the passenger seat with his boots up on the dash and his arms wrapped tight across his chest. They sat in silence as the minutes ticked by. At last Jack cleared his throat.

_You wanna get a drink at the Mint or something?_

Ennis turned his face away.

_Jesus Christ, Ennis, don’t tell me you’re pissed off at me. What the hell did I do?_

But Ennis refused to speak.

_Look, friend, those guys wasn’t lookin’ for a fight_.

The silence ticked by. Jack looked at his watch. Fucking 7:30. By this time tomorrow he’d be sitting at his parents’ table up in Lightning Flat . . . .

_Fuck it_ , he said at last and hit the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hand. _Goddamn it, Del Mar, I’m not lettin’ you end things like this. We’re goin’ to the fucking Mint, and we’re gonna get drunk and have ourselves a good fuckin’ time. Whether you like it or not_.

And with that Ennis suddenly straightened and opened the door.

_I’m serious, boy_ , Jack yelled at him after he slammed the door shut and started walking toward his truck. _I’m goin’ to the fuckin’ Mint_.

He didn’t wait to watch Ennis get in his truck, but instead turned the key in the ignition and slammed the truck into reverse, remembering only at the last second that he had a horse trailer attached.

_Shit!_ He said under his breath and lurched back into first, making a wide turn through the parking lot, and headed toward the road. In his rear-view mirror he saw Ennis’s tail lights flicker on like campfires glimpsed from a distance.

In the end, Ennis had followed him all the way back to Sheridan and pulled along beside him in the parking lot of the Mint Bar. Without speaking, they’d split a bale between the two horses and checked the bolts on the trailers. And still without speaking they’d made their way across the parking lot, riddled with potholes, the water in them reflecting the street lights like stars in a lake. Only as they walked through the door and were engulfed in music and laughter and smoke, did Jack look closely at Ennis’s face and see the redness - the rawness- around his eyes. He stopped as though he’d hit an invisible stretch of electric fencing.

_Ennis_ , he said in a low voice. _You all right?_ But Ennis only glared at him.

_Come on, let’s go_ , Jack said and turned back to the door. But Ennis kept walking. Right up to the bar. And what could Jack do? What could he do but follow?

Ennis ordered two shots of Tequila, pushing one at Jack without so much as a glance, and threw the other back, slamming the empty glass down hard on the counter. The bartender glanced over at him, and Ennis raised two fingers.

_We don’t have to get drunk, you know_.

It might have been the goddamn most dumb ass thing he’d ever said to Ennis in his life, but he was desperate. Everything. Everything that they’d seen and done together over the past week was on the edge of slipping away. And it'd be the Spring, the fucking Spring, before they saw each other again. Ennis turned to him, his lips pressed in a firm line, his eyes proud and defiant. Jack knew that look. Knew it well.

_Thought that’s what you were lookin’ to do, Jack_.

And from there it had all unraveled like a cheap sweater. They drank four more shots on empty stomachs, and then Jack had gone to the men’s room, and when he came back, some guy in a Filson’s jacket had taken his seat. So, he’d gone to sit on Ennis’s right, and the next thing he knew, Ennis had stripped off his jacket, and good ol’ boys were gathering around like Mexicans at a cock fight. At first the other guy had looked like he’d have the better of it, and Jack had stripped off his own jacket and set his hat on the bar, ready to step in and take over if Ennis lost his footing, but then something caught hold of Ennis, and he took the guy down, quick and dirty, to the boos and murmured admiration of his audience. When the guy’s buddy returned from the men’s room, Jack stepped in front of him, rolling up his sleeves, heading him off before he could even think of going after Ennis. There was some shoving and some bluster, but the bartender had stepped between them. _Get out_ , he’d said, getting right up into Jack’s face. _And take that other son of a bitch with you_.

Out in the parking lot there’d been another fight, and Jack busted up his knuckles pretty bad. Finally, after the other guys had cleared out, Jack leaned against his truck, squeezing his hand between his knees and cursing a blue streak while Ennis paced back and forth, back and forth, kicking at loose rocks and pulling hard on his cigarette. Across the street, the plate-glass windows of the late-night laundromat streamed with hospital-bright light, and Jack could see the one dryer in use spinning, something yellow in it. The few streetlights by comparison were an anemic orange, a couple humming and flickering and a third shattered, the glass on the pavement beneath sparkling like a handful of diamonds. A cat slunk from under a truck and slipped down the alley between the Standard Loan and a beauty shop, which was shut up tight with only a neon exit sign turning the darkness pink and backlighting the mannequin heads in the front window. Somewhere a car door slammed and boot heels sounded on the pavement like gun shots.

_Now what?_ Jack had asked looking up at Ennis who’d come to a stop before him.

_How should I know?_ He took one last draw on his cigarette and threw it down with a quick hiss in a nearby puddle.

_Shit_ , Jack said and straightened, wringing his hand out. _Won’t be using that hand for a week_.

_Shouldn’t be that much of a problem_ , Ennis had said. _After all you’re not ridin’ anything tougher than one of them swivelling office chairs these days_.

At any other time, Jack might have found this remark hilarious. But not then. Not at that moment. He was half-drunk, in pain, his heart still kicking like a colt from the fight, and even worse Ennis was smiling, his eyes snapping like embers, his fists still clenched.

_Fuck you_ , Jack had said, hating the way the sound of it tasted in his mouth, but hating even more the sudden knowledge that Ennis had enjoyed himself, enjoyed the feel of his boot connecting with some poor bastard’s jaw, enjoyed the intimate sparring, the dodge and jab, the spit and blood on his knuckles. Jack slammed his hat down on his head and flung open the door of his truck.

_Jack_.

Nothing else, but that. His name. Just _Jack_.

He couldn’t look. If he did, he wouldn’t go and something in his head, humming like an exposed electrical line, kept telling him he had to go, that he should go, that he _must_ go. So, he couldn’t look, because he knew if he did he’d see the panic on Ennis’s face, the sheer panic, and he’d never be able to turn the key in the ignition. When he didn’t answer, Ennis took a step toward him. Jack got in and slammed the door shut, rolling down the window.

_Jack_.

And Jack didn’t have to look at him to see the panic. Ennis’s voice was twisted with it. Ennis placed his hand on the window frame.

_Good-bye, Del Mar_ , Jack had said, turning the key in the ignition, but Ennis didn’t step back. _See you in the Spring_.

Only when he’d put the truck in reverse and popped the clutch, spraying gravel up behind his rear tires, had Ennis stepped back and away, his face in shadow under the brim of his hat, watching after him as Jack pulled out of the parking lot and down the length of main street, the one traffic light blinking yellow. On and off. On and off.

 

His Mom called to him from the kitchen window.

“Breakfast’s ready.”

Jack took a final drag from his cigarette and threw it on the ground. In the kitchen, the light spilling through the thin blue curtains looked like watery milk. Bacon grease sizzled and snapped in an iron pan on top of the range and a jar of Smuckers marmalade sat in the middle of the table. Beside it was a knife from a baby’s utensil set. Must a been his, Jack thought. The plastic handle was cracked and yellow with age.

“Don’t be throwin’ your goddamn cigarette butts around,” his father said as he descended the narrow staircase, one slow step at a time, buttoning his shirt cuffs. He must've been watching Jack from his bedroom window. Jack was scarcely able to hide the shudder that crept over him, whether from loathing or shame, he couldn’t quite say.

“Yes, sir,” he said, careful as always to keep his tone flat and neutral.

“That’s how grass fires get started. Dumb ass cowboys like you. Not payin’ no attention to nothing.”

Jack just nodded and set the plate of eggs his Mom handed to him on the table. “Anything else I can help with, Ma?” he asked.

“I can take it from here,” she answered. “Go ahead and sit down, sweetheart.” Jack took a seat beside his father, his teeth clenching at the sound of sand grating against the tile floor as he pulled his chair up to the table.

“This place sure could use a broom,” said John Twist, his mouth half full. Like fucking clockwork, Jack thought. The son of a bitch never missed the chance to make them feel like shit. He dug into his hash browns before something he’d regret could slip out. His Mom remained standing at the stove, her thin shoulders showing even through the quilted fabric of her housecoat. Almost imperceptibly she nodded.

“May not seem like much to you with your fancy house an’ new truck an’ all. But the money I make from cutting this hay. . .” His father gestured around the kitchen as if the thin walls of the house had fallen away, leaving them sitting in the middle of the vast and wind-whipped plain. “ . . . pays the mortgage on this place. Does me no good burnt to nothing.”

“I got it, Pa,” Jack said.

“Be the first time,” said his father without missing a beat and without looking up from his plate.

 

They spent the morning doing the best kind of work. Mending fences with a good two hundred yards between them at all times. And it was work Jack was good at, too. Or rather, he would be good at it if his hand wasn’t throbbing like a son of a gun. Often he stood to wring it out and looked out to the edge of the horizon. Light and shadow flickered over the long ground and the waving grass like a sped-up movie, and the wind sang through the barbed wire. Far off, Jack could see his father’s bent back, and suddenly the thought of the late afternoon dinner in the spare cold kitchen was more than he could bear. Jack tilted his hat back and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. It was always hard visiting Lightning Flat, but usually he was just coming from a week in the mountains with Ennis, and the fever was still high in his blood so that even a scene like this morning couldn’t dampened his spirits or keep him from singing some song or another while he worked. Often he fancied he could still smell Ennis on his hands, still taste his mouth, but this time was different. Just the thought of Ennis cast a shadow over his heart. By mid-afternoon he knew what he had to do.

 

“You’re early for dinner, son,” his Mom said, looking up in surprise from the open oven when Jack came through the door, stamping his boots on the welcome mat. “There’s another forty-five minutes on this roast, and I haven’t started the potatoes yet.” Jack hung his hat on a wall peg and headed toward the stairs taking them two at a time.

“Gonna have to miss dinner,” he called down to her as he quickly stuffed clothes in his duffel bag.

“What? Why? What do you mean?”

Jack came back down. “I’m sorry, Ma. I’m real sorry. I know you probably been plannin’ this meal for a month.” He pulled on his jacket.

“Why?” she asked, her face lined with disappointment and confusion. “Why? Where you goin’?”

Jack crossed the room and placed both hands on her arms, looking down at her for a long moment. She gazed back at him, frank and unblinking.

“I done something stupid,” he said finally. “I need to make amends.”

“Can’t have been that bad,” she said and reached up to cup his cheek with her hand. “Not if my baby boy was the one done it.” Jack smiled sadly.

“I love you, Ma,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” She returned his smile. Letting her hand fall back to her side, she stepped away from him, and Jack moved to grab his hat from the wall.

“I’ll see you in the Spring?” Though why he was asking her when it was he who would make that decision was beyond him. She nodded and followed him to the door.

“I’ll tell your father you got news from Lureen about Bobby being sick or L.D. needing you at the lot or something.”

“Thanks, Ma.” He bent and kissed her cheek. And then he was jogging toward his truck.

“Tell Ennis ‘hello’ from me,” she called as Jack opened the door. He paused for a moment to look back at her, to where she stood in the doorway, the hem of her maroon dress fluttering in the wind, her cheap beige stockings, her thick black-soled shoes. She was smiling kindly.

“I will,” he said and got in the truck, waving as he pulled out into the road in a cloud of dust.

 

It wasn’t till he reached Spotted Horse, that Jack noticed he’d been white knuckling the steering wheel and his hands had started cramping up. He took a deep breath and shook them out, drying his damp palms on his thighs. It was late afternoon on a Sunday, and he had the road to himself. He took his hat off and rolled down the window, letting the soft air stir his matted hair. All around him was the endless stretch of plains. The farther south he drove the greener they got. Most of the hay fields had already been cut north of Gillette, shorn as close as new recruits, the bales wrapped tight in thick plastic, gleaming in the sun. But now and again he passed an uncut field. Always made him wonder. Was someone sick? Dead? A lot of the ranchers he’d known when he was young were buried under six feet of wind-lashed sod, and their kids were nowhere to be found. Moved to Denver or Laramie or Tulsa. Most had been like him. They would've ridden the wind out of north Wyoming if only they could figure out how.

Which made it all the more ironic that the only thing Jack really wanted - had wanted for years now - was to get back to Lightning Flat. It was the only place he could think of in the whole old world where he might convince Ennis to go with him. He’d had this dream for more than a decade, had nursed it like a motherless lamb on every dusk-to-dusk drive he’d made back and forth between here and Texas, that one day he’d get the call from his Mom that his father had died. And somehow, some way (parts of the dream were hazy at best), he’d convince Ennis to leave Riverton and come up north with him. They’d fix up the old homestead. Knock out one of the walls and put on an addition. Build his Mama a big new kitchen with all that modern shit that Lureen had down in Childress. Buy a T.V., a few head of cattle. Move his widowed Aunt up from Clearmont. He and Ennis would build a cabin or something for themselves, of course. Couldn’t have their bedroom anywhere near his Mom’s and Aunt Clare’s the way Ennis could get a headboard banging.

Jack smiled to himself despite the anxiety knotting in his stomach. He could picture it all like it was something that had already happened. The two of them in a November snow squall, riding out with the dogs for one last look on the cattle. The sharp taste of the air, the wind high enough that you’d drown if you tried to breathe through your nose. The dogs bounding over the matted grass, spraying snow behind them and the smell of fresh hay and cow shit. Their hands would be cold and their faces stinging and wet, but behind them would be bright squares of lighted windows and smoke blowing sideways from the chimney. The smell of a roasting hen and parsley spuds and wool drying by the fire. Beside him, Ennis spurred his horse forward, almost losing his hat in a sudden gust, but catching it in the nick of time. The snow lay on his narrow shoulders. _Whatcha waiting for_? he’d call back when he reached the sheltered place where they’d thrown the feed earlier that day. _Spring?_ But still Jack wouldn’t hurry. Because part of it all was knowing that once they returned home and pulled off their boots and gloves and stamped the snow from their jeans, that he could reach out and pull Ennis up close, kiss the melted snow off his lips. It was all his for the asking, and nothing and no one could tell him otherwise. No need to hurry. No more need to grab at time as it rushed by him, where he stood, dazed and always an instant too late.

In Kaycee, he stopped for a tank of gas and a cup of coffee. He was just checking the bolt on the horse trailer when a beat-up Pinto pulled up, radio blaring, and teenagers emerged, one after the other, like clowns from a circus car. The boys, skinny and long-haired, eyed Jack furtively. No doubt, Jack knew, taking in his boots, his Filson jacket, his mustache, his Stetson, his Texas plates. One of them laughed and grabbed his girlfriend’s ass, practically cramming his fingers in her twat. Jack looked away, embarrassed, feeling stuck somewhere between the lonely and confused kid he’d been at that age and the middle-aged paunchy guy he was rapidly becoming.

“Hey there, cowboy,” one of the kids said as he passed, flicking his cigarette under Jack’s truck.

“Nice!” Jack yelled after him. “Ever consider what would happen if there’d been a puddle of gas under there?” The kid just laughed and flipped him off without turning around. “Punks,” Jack said under his breath and got back in his truck, the irony of the exchange’s similarity to that morning’s conversation with his father not lost on him in the slightest. Kids these days. Bobby was already starting to wear his hair around his ears. Shit. He’d have to talk to Lureen about that. Just another thing to add to the ever-growing list.

There were only five business establishments open in Riverton at 9:15 on a Sunday night and four of them were bars. The fifth was a gas station with McCarthy-era pumps and soap-smeared plate-glass windows. Jack almost passed it by, thinking it was out-of-business or something, when he noticed a guy behind the counter and a couple other older fellows sitting on boxes under the flickering florescent light. He pulled up and topped off the tank, even though it was more than half full, and while he stood at the pump he considered just how awkward it was going to be to walk in there and ask if any of them knew where one, Ennis Del Mar, might be found. 

The rundown little ranch house had been empty and dark, and Jack hadn’t even been sure after looking in a couple windows that Ennis still lived there anymore. The moon had thrown out scarcely enough light to see more than a beat-up old sofa and a coffee table covered with empty beer bottles and brimming ashtrays. The bed in the cramped back room was unmade and rumpled.

Jack glanced over at the men and tried to swallow his knocking heart back down his throat. Goddamn it. This is what he hated more than most anything. Being unable to do what other guys could do without thinking twice. _Hey, has anyone seen Leroy around? The bastard owes me a poker game_. He’d had the same damn trouble just last month when he’d gone to pick up Randall at the stock show. They’d been headed to the lake for the weekend, and the stock show was on the way, so Randall had suggested that he get a ride from one of the hands and Jack could pick him up. No big deal. But when Jack had arrived, there were a hundred or more ranch hands milling about and Randall was nowhere to be seen. Every time he stopped to ask if anyone knew Randall and where he might be at, he could feel the blood scorching his cheeks, could hear the quaver in his voice.

Fuck it. He hadn’t driven nearly seven hours for this shit. Jack tipped his hat back and strode toward the station.

“That’ll be $4.87,” the guy behind the counter said as Jack entered, the bell over the door jangling harshly in the smokey air. The two older men glanced up, and one of them spat a wad of chew into an old coffee can sitting on top of an engine block. Jack sent him and his companion a quick nod and handed the guy behind the counter a five dollar bill.

“That’s a fancy trailer you got there, mister,” the guy said, looking over Jack’s shoulder at his truck.

“Yeah. Guess so,” Jack said and swallowed. He could feel the sweat starting to bead under his hat brim. “Uh, say, do any of you fellas know a guy by the name a Del Mar?”

The guy behind the counter turned his gaze from Jack’s truck and peered at him, eyes narrowed slightly.

“Yeah. Who’s askin’?” he said, the toothpick in the corner of his mouth hardly moving.

“Me,” said Jack, squaring his shoulders and meeting the man’s gaze head on. “Old friend of his. Passin’ through. Thought I’d see if he was still round these parts.”

For several interminable seconds, the guy held Jack’s gaze. The lights flickered and hummed, and behind them the old guy cleared his throat and spat in the can again.

“Ennis used to be my brother-in-law,” the guy said finally and pushed Jack’s change across the counter. “He’s a right cunt. Woulda kicked the shit outta him after he divorced my sister, but seeing as he’s the father of my nieces, I ‘cided not to.”

“That’s a good one, Joe,” said one of the other men. “More like he’d kick the shit outta you. I heard he once took a three year-old steer down single-handed.”

“Sure, he _thinks_ he’s a tough one,” the guy behind the counter said, “but I know a few things ‘bout him that you guys don’t.”

If lightning had struck the station at that precise moment and blown the place and all four of them sky-high, Jack woulda been just fine with that.

“Well, I don’t need the history of the world,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just wonderin’ where I might find him at is all.”

“I worked with him a couple years out on Wroe’s old place,” the other older man piped in. “‘Fore I busted up my knee. Supervised him and a few other guys from here in town. Hard worker. Didn’t never say much, though.”

Jack cleared his throat and looked at each man in turn, eyebrows raised.

“Try over at the Eagle,” one of them said and not waiting to see which one it was, Jack headed to the door. “Thanks,” he said and jogged back to his truck.

Ennis would lose it if he saw Jack walk in the door of the Eagle. Just fucking lose it. Jack opened a new pack of cigarettes and pulled one out with his teeth. The encounter at the station had left him feeling shaky. He sniffed into the collar of his shirt. Phew! He stank. Nervous as a fucking girl. Goddamn it. He pulled into the Eagle’s crowded parking lot. Several men were standing outside the front door smoking, and a guy and a girl were standing near an old Buick, one on either side of the vast hail-pocked hood, pointing their fingers at each other and yelling. _You look at him one more time, and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat_ , the guy was saying. _Go fuck yerself_ , his girl screamed back. _Go fuck yerself, asshole!_ Jack took a long draw on his cigarette and closed his eyes. Tired all of a sudden. So tired.

There came a hard rap on his window, and Jack nearly jumped out of his skin, spilling ash down the front of his shirt from his low-burning cigarette.

“What the fuck do you want?” he yelled before he could remember where he was and realize that the man on the other side of the glass was Ennis.

“Shit,” he said, rolling down the window. “You scared the crap outta me, Ennis.” This wasn’t at all how he’d imagined this moment.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ennis hissed through his teeth, turning his head quickly from one side to the other like a coyote at a road crossing.

What the fuck, indeed, was he doing there? Jack rubbed his eyes and pushed his hat back off his brow.

“I dunno,” he said, just staring forward, both hands on the steering wheel. “I have no fucking clue.” And only when he heard his voice did he realize that it wavered on the edge of tears.

Ennis came around to the other side of the truck and got in the passenger seat. He slammed the door and moved as far away from Jack as he could possibly get.

“Go on,” he said. “Let’s get outta here.”

Jack pulled back out on to the road, but it wasn’t until they hit rural route 2 that Ennis loosened up, unfolding his arms and sliding into the middle of his seat. Jack took out another cigarette and held the pack out to Ennis. They smoked in silence for several minutes.

Finally, Jack asked, “Where we goin’?”

Ennis looked over at him for a long moment, his eyes unreadable in the shade of his hat brim. The dashboard lights turning the white of his shirt a pallid green.

“My place, I guess,” he said. “Don’t think we’ll be hittin’ any more bars after the other night.”

Jack nodded, both hands still on the wheel. Another long moment of silence. Jack cleared his throat.

“Ennis, I sure am sorry about that,” he paused, stammering. “About the other night, you know, . . . when I. . . when I . . .”

“Shut up, Twist,” Ennis said. “Just shut up and drive.”

 

It took them more than fifteen minutes to get Jack’s truck parked just right so it couldn’t be seen from the road. Ennis stood out by the mailbox, signaling for him to turn this way or that with his hat in his hand, illuminated in the headlights. At last he gave Jack the thumbs-up, and Jack switched off the engine. The whole world went black, and he got out into the cool night air and just stood there, his hands on his waist, looking up at the great turning sky. The uncountable stars.

Ennis walked back to where he stood, and Jack could feel his eyes on him, like they were hands, pushing his jacket open and spreading across his ribs. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to meet Ennis’s.

“Gotta piss,” said Ennis. “You comin’ inside or what?”

Jack followed him to the dilapidated little porch, stepping over a pile of firewood, a couple of metal dog bowls.

“I take care a the foreman’s springers sometimes when he goes away,” Ennis said, gesturing toward the bowls with his chin and fumbling in the pocket of his jean jacket for the key. “The place’s a fucking mess.” He turned the key in the lock and gave the door a shove with his shoulder. Jack noticed that the faded curtains on the window must once have been the same color as the curtains on his parents’ door.

The kitchen smelled of fried onions and sour milk, and the faucet dripped steadily on to a pile of unwashed dishes. Jack took his hat off and looked around for a place to hang it.

“Told you it was a mess,” Ennis said. He went to the little bathroom just off the kitchen, took a piss without turning the light on and flushed the toilet. He took Jack’s hat from him and set it on top of the refrigerator. They stood looking at one another for a long moment.

And then, all of a sudden, they were in each other’s arms, and Jack was kissing Ennis hungrily, and Ennis was running his hands up and down Jack’s back through his jacket. They backed up against the arm of the sofa, and Jack sat down hard as Ennis pushed his thigh between Jack’s legs, the dust that was thrown up hanging in the pale moonlight and sparkling like snow. They continued kissing as Jack ground his crotch against Ennis’s thigh. Without pulling away, Ennis chuckled.

“Did you have that hard-on all the way from Lightning Flat?” He broke off the kiss and rested his forehead against Jack’s. Jack reached around and worked his fingers into Ennis’s back pockets.

“Pretty much,” he said. “But, to tell you the truth, I didn’t come here to fuck you.”

“Well, whether that’s what you came here to do or not, that’s what’s gonna happen,” Ennis growled and bit Jack’s earlobe.

“I came here . . .” Jack sucked in his breath as Ennis reached both hands into his jacket and pinched his nipples through the fabric of his shirt. “I came here ‘cause there was something . . .” but then Ennis was kissing him again. “There was something I wanted to tell you,” he mumbled against Ennis’s mouth.

“Shush, Jack,” Ennis whispered and reached for Jack’s belt buckle, the buttons of his jeans.

“Don’tcha even want to know what I’m talking about?” Jack asked. Their foreheads were touching as they both looked down at Jack’s lap, at Ennis’s hand wrapped firmly around Jack’s cock.

“No,” Ennis said, his voice husky and low. “I’m serious, Jack, just shut up.” And then he did something that Ennis had never done before, never, in all their long years together. He knelt in front of Jack and tugged Jack’s jeans down to the middle of his thighs. And in the same moment, when Jack realized what was about to happen, his heart lept into his throat so that he couldn’t say another word. Not even if he’d wanted to. Ennis was tentative at first, taking in only the head of Jack’s cock, and Jack found himself momentarily amazed at the softness of Ennis’s mouth, at the gentleness, as though he’d forgotten the exquisite tenderness that Ennis used to show during their lovemaking, back when they were younger. Totally unexpectedly, his eyes filled with tears, but at just the same instant, Ennis suddenly took him all the way in, erasing everything else from his thoughts. Jack pushed his fingers into Ennis’s sandy curls, touched almost to silver in the moonlight, and placed both palms on his temples, guiding his movements gently, but firmly. Beyond the curve of Ennis’s back, his boot spurs caught the same silver light, and their bright glint against the rough-hewn floorboards was the last thing Jack saw before his head fell back and he came.

 

Ennis hadn’t said so, but Jack knew he’d want him to be gone before sun up.

He waited until Ennis was sound asleep in the sagging twin bed, his breath steady and slow, and that familiar look of complete peace slipped over his face like a moon shadow. He lay still as the minutes ticked by on the cheap alarm clock, hating the thought of the cold truck, the tiredness thick as nausea as he drove south. South through Colorado, cross the Oklahoma panhandle. The watery light of dawn giving way to the unforgiving Rocky Mountain sun. He would a given anything. Anything. His new truck. His horses. Whole years of his life. Just to be able to stay right where he was in this threadbare little bedroom with its fake wood paneling, its cracked mirror, the bits of hay and horse shit tramped in on Ennis’s boots after days of back-breaking thankless fucking work.

He kissed Ennis’s forehead softly, kissed his hair, his temples, his eyelids. And then as carefully as he could, he slid out of Ennis’s arms and gathered up his clothes. He got dressed in the living room and retrieved his hat from on top the refrigerator. Quiet as he could, he pulled open the kitchen door, but then stopped and turned. It took a couple minutes to find a pen and something to write on. Finally he found a matchbook. _Ennis_ , he wrote on the inside flap and then paused. _Friend_ , he continued. _Had to hit the road. Didn’t want to wake you_. He paused again, chewing on the end of the pen. So many things to write. So many things, but none of them enough. _So long for now. Yours, Jack_.

 

He’d been scarcely more than a boy when he saw his first wild fire. They’d been driving home from a church supper, he and his parents. It was one of the reasons the memory had stuck with him: his father never went to church with him and his mother. Almost never went to any of the suppers or socials neither. But this time he had. Jack couldn’t remember why, and maybe he hadn’t known why even at the time. But he remembered they’d all dressed up, and he’d played in the coatroom with the Crawford twins. And he remembered, too, the hot wind. The way it had rattled the windows of the little one-room church in their frames, lifted the ladies’ dresses to their thighs and caught the mens’ hats as they’d all stepped beyond the bright swath of light spilling free of the door into the dark parking lot. Jack could remember the feel of grit in his mouth, the way the dust had worked its way through the car’s ventilation system, leaving ghostly streaks along the dashboard. At first, they’d driven with other cars from the supper. Single file along the long stretch of rural route J. But one by one, the other cars had peeled off on to side roads or the dusty lengths of driveways leading back to ranches and farmhouses only hinted at by the flicker of a lighted window or a sign swinging crazily on its hinges. One by one, the cars had abandoned them until they’d been alone on the long dark road. And Jack remembered realizing how far away their home was from everyone else’s and wondered, perhaps for the first time, why that was. It was this thought, this wondering, that'd been on his mind when they’d driven over a slight rise and been enveloped suddenly in a vague orange glow.

_Hell_ , Jack remembered thinking. _So this is Hell_. He’d been tired. Maybe even half asleep, but he’d nonetheless been aware of the strange light. Clearly generating heat, but not illumination. Rather, the distant fires on either side of the road had seemed to swallow up light, to consume it like the grass itself, until there was nothing but orange darkness. And a smell so strong that you could taste it as you breathed, taste its heat, its fury. He had been terrified. But his father had driven on, and his parents had said nothing. Not to him or to each other, while the little boy in the backseat wept silently with fear. It was this memory that had kept him, years later, from joining the kids playing “fire chicken,” that game where you drove out to the county line and, after a few beers, flicked lit matches into the tall grass, daring each other to let the fire get out of control.

Jack pulled over on the side of the road and switched off the engine. Before him lay Colorado. Behind him, in a long lonely sweep of grass and sky, lay Wyoming. He got out of the truck slowly, wearily, and slammed the door. The wind smelled of the mountains ahead. He felt tired and old and just plain worn-out. As though instead of driving in the shadow of the foothills that awaited him, he was charged with walking over them, one by one, step by ever-heavier step. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. On his left, far back from the road, a couple a ranch hands on horseback were trying to steer about a hundred sheep into a pen. The dogs’ barks, flung on the wind, scarcely reached his ears, but he could hear the men’s voices. Or at least he thought he could. And for a fleeting moment he would a sworn that one belonged to Ennis. Except it sounded light, youthful. Not Ennis’s voice as it was now, but as it had been. Jack cupped his hand around the end of his cigarette and after several flicks of his empty lighter got it lit. He drew in the smoke with an audible breath and turned slowly, looking back over the way he’d come, over the endless waving grass. His horse whinnied in the trailer, and Jack went to the back of his truck for a bale of hay, lifting it out with both hands, his cigarette balanced in the corner of his mouth. As he closed the door to the trailer, a southbound 18-wheeler barreled past, rocking both truck and trailer like cardboard boxes in a breeze. Jack watched it dwindle into the horizon and took a final drag on his cigarette. He turned to look back at Wyoming one last time, back toward Lightning Flat, toward Riverton. Toward Brokeback. And without stubbing it out, he flicked his cigarette butt as far as he could into the field beyond the drainage ditch. Into the tall dry grass.


End file.
